Nothing looked luxurious. There were no expensive machines or impressive pieces of equipment.
But there was enough food to keep a household going for a considerable time.
I slowly turned toward Ray.
“Why do you have all this?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he pointed to the far wall.
A large hand-drawn map of our town hung above the shelves. Several streets were marked in pencil, and beside them were handwritten names.
Mrs. Carter, the elderly widow who lived two houses away.
An older couple near the church.
A single mother who worked at the elementary school.
A retired mechanic who had once repaired my mother’s furnace without charging her.
I recognized nearly every name.
Then I found ours.
My mother’s name was written near the center of the map.
Beneath it were three words:
House. Garden. Backup.
I read them twice.
“What is this supposed to mean?”
Ray pulled an old folding chair from the corner and sat down. His knees cracked as he lowered himself.
